Minimum Wage
by Sushi Bowl
Summary: Massie is forced to get a job. Set in late summer.
1. The Beginning

Massie Block was very, very angry.

She sulked, crossing her arms. Then uncrossing them. Then closing her notebook dramatically, over and over again. And then she pretended to faint on the couch, nearly dropping her notebook.

Her parents were forcing her to get a job. They were forcing her to work. They were forcing her to develop a character.

THEY WERE FORCING HER TO BE A SLAVE. A _SLAVE._ WHO DID THEY THINK SHE WAS? KRISTEN?

Of course, Massie wasn't going to oblige. She was a Block. Her bloodline ran through generations of, um, bricklayers. She was much too pure and elegant to work for anybody.

When she told her parents this, they threatened to cut off her credit cards.

"Alright," Massie had said sourly. "I'll get a job."

Massie pronounced_ job_ like _one more book of this teenage s-_

Ahem.

"But," Massie had continued. "You have to follow this list of guidelines. It's for when you hire someone to find a job for me."

Since Massie's parents were complete pushovers, and allowed her to do anything she wanted-

_**(A/N: The Halloween party with an ice skating rink. The clothes that had a bigger price tag then a car. The fact that she got KICKED OUT OF SCHOOL AND THEY LET HER GO TO CALIFORNIA TO PURSUE AN ACTING CAREER.)**_

-They agreed.

This was why Massie was sitting on the living room couch, holding her diamond-plated notebook, writing down all her requirements for this job.

_MASSIE'S REQUIREMENTS FOR THIS JOB_

1. I will not, under any circumstances, work for a place that serves food.

2. The idea I will go to work in a normal car is totally absurd. You will buy me a limo, and hire a person to drive me there. The limo must fit all of my friends. Because they all revolve around me. I'm like, the world.

3. And by _friends, _I mean all my friends from MySpace.

Seven hours later, Massie was still writing. Her notebook was almost completely filled.

1,987. I will not sell cheap knockoffs. They're about realistic as Alicia being a virgin.

Finally, after fatiguing penmanship, Massie was done with the notebook. Sauntering out of the living room, she bounded up the stairs and knocked on her parent's door.

A monstrous object with short straw-like hair and a green, slimy face answered. Massie screamed.

"Aw, honey." The object said. "It's just your-"

"Mom?" Massie asked, frowning. Not just frowning, actually. She was downright shocked. "Is this what you look like without make-up? Ohmigod. Am I going to look like that?"

"I guess I could get surgery.." Massie added with an afterthought. "But still-"

"-Dad." The object finished, ignoring the earlier comments. "Your mom is sleeping. It's three A.M. I can't believe you would come in here this early, especially when I'm not wearing make-up. Can't you wait until morning? Give me your notebook, and go to bed, or I'm putting you up for adoption."

---

The next morning, Massie was still stuck in an angry teenager mode.

She put on her most dark, gothic outfit. She strapped on her ebony stilettos, which matched her charcoal halter top. Her cloudy nails tapped on her dusky mini-skirt, which kind of looked like a belt.

"I look like an emo pinup!" Massie said, smiling. Then she practiced her depressed face. "Like that kid from that band. My Biology Romance, or Panic! At the Bloomingdales. I am beyond cool. So completely awesome."

Her dog barked from under the white bed. Massie's dog was refusing to leave it. The veterinarian diagnosed it with OCD.

"No, Bean." Massie sighed. Dogs didn't get it. "I'm not a funeral slut. It's not Halloween yet. Now shut up, or I won't feed you for another week."

When she was done over-doing her eyeliner, Massie walked silently down the steps. Her mother was sitting in the kitchen, reading a book on the Atkins diet. Breakfast was prepared as usual by their housekeeper, who smiled all the time and was almost plastic.

Massie slammed down into the chair, and gave off the impression of being completely hostile. She grabbed one of the banana muffins from the middle of the table.  
"Wow," Kendra Block said, setting her book down. "You're certainly amiable today. I take it your father told you where you're going to work."

Massie looked at her mother. Her face was unsympathetic. Which was a big surprise, since Massie's parents normally bended to every beck and call that spoiled girl had, from invitations to exclusive club openings to designer lunches.

"Where?" Massie asked, looking a bit worried. Her act hadn't worked.

"You've tried to own us since you were born, Massie." Kendra smiled aloofly. "I destroyed your rule book with my laser eyes-"

"I knew it!" Massie narrowed her eyes. "You're a Stepford wife! I've suspected it, since you wear nothing but pearls, even when you're ordering someone to do the laundry!"

Kendra nodded.

"Took you long enough to figure out I'm a robot. Anyway, your father and I decided you'll work at the…"

Massie felt dizzy. Her world was crashing down on her.

"…_Ice cream parlor_."

---

**_There you go. Massie has been forced to actually enter the real world._**

**_(It's not that I don't like Lisi Harrison's books, but there just so-_**

**_So-_**

**_SHALLOW. I enjoy reading them, but they've got no depth, and more plot holes the_**_**n Smallville. Don't get me wrong, I do like them a lot. They're pretty nice for a quick read, and are more addicting then a soap opera. But they're so easy to make fun of. I'm kind of surpised I'm the first parody..)**_

_**And don't forget review, my sweet orange candies. I'll give you a cherry popsicle if you promise not to blow up my house with your flames..**_


	2. I SCREAM! YOU SCREAM! AND FOR WHAT?

As it turns out, scooping ice cream and putting it in a cone is not very hard. But every employee of Inside Scoop had to go through a rigorous training process before they could venture out into the real world.

Massie felt sick. Food and work? She was going to die here. She was going to kick the bucket. She would breathe in all the toxins the customers brought in with them.

SHE WAS GOING TO CATCH AIDS, SHE JUST KNEW IT.

"Massie, are you okay? Massie?" A shrill, high-pitched voice rang out. It sounded a bit like Claire. Or a broken whistle.

Massie stared on ahead. She was thinking about writing her autobiography on how she was treated like a slave. It would sell for millions of dollars, and she would probably get a Nobel Peace prize.

"Massie, are you _ALIVE?_"

Massie snapped out of her day dream. Her boss was standing in front of her, tapping his clipboard on her head.

"Yeah," She said brusquely. "I'm like, totally fine. Please stop like, HITTING me on the HEAD."

Her boss lowered the clipboard. Mr. Bill looked a bit sorry.

"Alright," He cleared his throat. "Let's continue your aptitude test. You've only got one left."

Massie scoffed.

"What aptitude? It's like, ice cream. Ohmigawd."

Ignoring her comments, Mr. Bill continued. "What do you do when a customer is hungry, but can't decide between a vanilla and a chocolate cone, what do you say?"  
"…Suggest he go on the Atkins diet?" Massie trailed off. She really was no good at this.

"No," Said the eighty year old ice cream salesman. A drastic change in personality was present. "YOU TELL HIM TO GET ANOTHER SCOOP, MASSIE! WHAT GOES _ON _IN YOUR HEAD? WORTHLESS CHILD! I HATE MY JOB!"

Massie stared at him. Mr. Bill had reached breaking point. Maybe she'd tormented him a little too much.

"WE'VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR THREE HOURS! YOU GOT ONE QUESTION RIGHT! _ONE RIGHT! _OUT OF SEVERAL THOUSAND! AND THAT WAS ABOUT FROZEN YOGURT! I POISONED THE FROZEN YOGURT!"

Massie looked bored. Mr. Bill quieted down a bit.

"Nobody orders frozen yogurt. Please don't tell the Health Inspector."

"Hire me." Massie said, a malicious grin spreading on her face. This way, she would keep her credit cards and control her boss. And get PAID to be a complete bitch.

"You failed…" Mr. Bill said, looking confused. "I can't hire a failure…"

"Yes, you can." Massie replied. "You can, or I'll call the Health Inspector. And you'll get shut down faster then you can say mint chocolate chip."

Mr. Bill sighed. Sometimes, he wished he was in a retirement home.

---

_Customer Number One_

---

"I'm huuunnnnnnngry…" A little girl whined, pulling on her father's coat. "I want some ice cream…"

The father looked pretty busy to Massie. He was talking angrily on his cell phone.

After speaking for about five minutes to some guy named Al, the father shut his phone. He wretched himself away from his daughter's grasp, and the girl fell down. She started crying. "Here's a fifty. Spend it all, and buy as much food as you want. I don't know when you'll get it again. I'm going to be at the gun store, buying us protection."

The little girl stared at her father, her tears gone. She held out her tiny hand, and the money was deposited.

She skipped over to the counter as the father exited the Carb Factory. Massie had begun calling it that after several arguments-for-bulimia had walked in.

"I'd like the Chalklat and Marmellows." The little girl whispered, sounding a lot like Cindy Brady._  
Here's the story, of a lovely lady, who was bringing up three very lovely girls..._

SO NOT THE TIME, MASSIE. DO YOU WANT PEOPLE TO KNOW YOU WATCH TV LAND IN YOUR SPARE TIME?

Massie filed her nails.

"I don't feel like it," She remarked, looking at her cubicles.

The little girl frowned, and began stomping her feet.

"Give me sthome ice cream, you crazy witch! Or I'll tell my parents you've been abusing me!"

Only she didn't say witch. Really, it was astounding to Massie the language the kids know these days.

Massie leaned over the counter, and flicked the top of the girl's head.

"Would you like to fly?"

"Huh?" The little girl asked.

"Good, 'cause you're going to be a blimp."

The little girl stared at Massie, completely perplexed.

---

_Customer Number 2_

---

Claire stared at all the ice cream flavors.

"Well?" Massie demanded. She had called Claire earlier, and demanded that Claire drop what she was doing to come worshi-

Visit Massie at work.

Claire, being a complete pushover and doormat, agreed. Cameron Fisher was still sitting on the couch, blindfolded, waiting for his girlfriend to come out with his birthday cake.

"They aren't very appetizing. In fact, they're evil. I'm the only thing GOOD and PURE in this ice cream _hell_! I wish I had been born evil! Then, at least, I wouldn't be so shocked! Can people really be so mean, as to invent such bad fla-"

"Kuh-laire," Massie interrupted. "Pick something, or I'm throwing you out of The Pretty Committee."

Claire sighed. "I want strawberry. In a chocolate cone. With gummy worms on top, because that is what pure people pick."

"Alright, but before you ingest those awful extra carbs, listen up." Massie went to scoop up Claire's ice cream, and then continued to be a bitch. "You can't tell anybody about what I'm doing here. It would totally ruin my rep. I'd be laughed out of the cafeteria."

Claire nodded solemnly, and made the Girl Scout's sign.

---

_Customer Number Three (Through six…) _

---

Dylan, like Claire, stared at all the ice cream flavors before her. Kristen to a seat on one of the retro, neon-colored chairs and Alicia snapped pictures of the shop with her cell phone.

"Alright." Massie said angrily. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, CLAIRE?"

"I- uh, um-" Claire stuttered. Massie was such a bully.

"Why would you do that? Bring over my cult follow- FRIENDS and have them see how I'm being mistreated! That was supposed to wait for my memoirs. Besides," And here Massie lowered her voice to a whisper. "They're total backstabbers. They'd tell everybody I'm at the Inside Scoop, ladling out Cherry Garcia for the TLCTRDOGYOU."

Claire first pretended to know what the initials meant. Then she bowed to Massie.

"Please, Massie." She groveled. "Exonerate me, for I have sinned."

"I instantly forgive you." Massie said, leaning forward across the counter. Her face looked devious. "But first, you have to do something embarrassing."

"Like what?" Claire asked. Claire always liked to throw herself into these positions. It made things interesting.

Massie held the cone she was preparing to give Dylan (since it said on the first book, summary: 'Massie's second in command.' Then it changed to Alicia. Then to Claire…). It was full of pistachio.

Pistachio is green, sticky, and from Massie's own experience, hard to clean off.

"_Perfect." _Massie thought, and aimed the cone directly to Claire's chest.

Claire screamed, and flailed her arms around wildly.

"You- Massie, you complete witch!" Claire screamed.

"Completely forgetting that Claire called us all up, and had us take pictures of what could have been her untimely demise." Alicia remarked, aiming her cell phone camera at Claire. "Oh, well."

Dylan laughed from behind her palm at Claire. Kristen burst into hysterics. Alicia snapped photos.

Claire's face reddened.

"Give me that." Claire said sharply to Alicia, and took her cell phone. Alicia protested. Claire kicked her. "I'm going to take a picture of myself, and call it Rock Bottom. Anytime Massie tries to be friends with me, I'm going to remember this."

"Want to be best friends?" Massie asked, testing her.

"Oh my God, I knew being a good and pure person would pay off! Of course!" Claire replied gleefully.

"Well, that lasted longer then Claire's photography career." Dylan commented.

_**(A/N: Remember how Claire magically stopped wanting to be a photographer? AND THEN CLAIMED SHE TOOK ACTING LESSONS SINCE SHE WAS FREAKING EIGHT.)**_

Claire huffed.

"I can't help it if Lisi Harrison keeps changing me." Claire frowned. "I'm just glad I'm not Kristen."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kristen said, widening her sky blue eyes. Then she put in colored contacts. "I don't get it. Nothing is changed about me. I mean, my eyes are still a nice lime green."

"Hey, Kristen!" Dylan called from over the ice cream containers. Dylan had climbed over the counter, and was now eating half of the merchandise. "I got you a cone. It's a berry flavor, so it's navy to match your eyes. Isn't that cool?"

Kristen sighed, and put in another set of colored contacts. Her eyes were starting to hurt.

Massie whined, and all eyes directed to her.

"Stop complaining about your stupid characters! I'm going to get-"

Mr. Bill came out from the back room. He pushed past Dylan, and stood in front of Massie.

"Miss Block?" He looked down at her. "I just spent the last couple hours researching blackmail, which you are guilty of. I could have you in jail for SEVERAL YEARS. Now, you can quit, or I'LL SEND YOU TO THE BIG HOUSE, MUHWHAHAHAHAHAH!"

Claire, Dylan, Alicia, Massie and Kristen all carefully backed away, exited the store, and waited for Mrs. Kendra Block to come and pick them up.

---

_**Massie's a little busy bee of a worker, isn't she?**_

_**And also, I apologize for making you wait three days. Updates are hard to finish when your computer keeps shutting down.**_

_**...Anyway, when you review, my crayon-scented erasers, please tell me what job you think Massie should have next. I'm puzzled at what to do.  
**_


	3. Fast Food America

It was all over. She was finished. Her popularity would take an out of the blue, astonishingly rapid fall, as if she had become a cliff diver with no attached bungee cord.

"I'll take a triple double bossy on the wheels, with cold popcorn on the rocks. Drop it for a twist; make it scream, shimmer, and shop. Construct it a little lopsided on the cow, and add green stuff between the eyes."

She'd have to move to Canada. Maybe she'd go to a Swiss boarding school, or take a year abroad to France. French shouldn't be that hard to learn, right? Wasn't it like, based off English? And she could chatspeak English.

Massie looked at the newest customer. He was overweight.

THAT TOLD HER ALL SHE NEEDED TO KNOW. SHE GOT TO BE RUDE NOW, HOORAY!

"We serve food here, sir." Massie said with some contempt. She examined her nails, and reminded herself to take off the black polish. She was way over the gothic phase.

"Fine. I want-" He paused. Massie sighed, and rolled her eyes. Everyone was just bathing in her disgust today. She needed to be British. It was a good way to compensate for this atrocity of her new job.

Kendra Block had decided her punishment for getting fired would be to work at-

_(dramatic pause)_

A FAST FOOD RESTAURANT.

Massie was not even kidding. Wasn't this one of her rules? Her parents didn't bother to _listen_, Gawd.

She was working, from nine-to-five, at a slippery ranch of condiments. It had seniors from the local high school (the LBRs who failed and had to go to summer school) come in for lunch, super sized drinks, and a- a-

_Value Menu_.

"A salad with dressing, French fries, an ice cream bar, a cheeseburger, a soda, and a hamburger, all super sized and deep fried. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Anything else?" Massie asked sarcastically.

"No." The man said. He looked like he was in his late thirties, and most definitely not married. "I'm on a diet."

"Good for you, Dr. Phil." Massie replied. "That'll be twelve-oh-fifty, and-"

As Massie was pressing colorful buttons of food pictures on the register, a bee flew in from the back room, and landed on her polyester shirt.

THAT'S RIGHT, POLYESTER.

It was bright mustard yellow. It also had several green stripes going horizontally up and down the shirt. The girl's uniform was a dress, which Massie found utterly sexist. What was this, the Colonial Era? She was just waiting for the Little House on The Prairie characters to show up. The uniform should have been something with a nonexistent skirt, designed by her. Forget about the second book's plotline, okay?

Oh, wow. She was getting off-topic. THERE WAS A WASP ON HER POLYESTER BLEND SHIRT, OKAY?

Massie froze. If she stood incredibly still, the bee wouldn't sting her. Was it a bee, or a wasp? If it were a bee, it would only sting her once, and then die. If it were a wasp, it would incessantly try and destroy her, like the J.C. Penny's Back-to-School Shopping Sale/Christmas Markdowns. Massie could not have angry red wounds on her model-beautiful face. Wait, was it model-beautiful, or had she been upgraded to actress-beautiful? And since when are actresses more beautiful then models?

"Are you alright?" The cashier next to Massie asked. "You look like you're stoned."

Massie snapped out of her oh-so-interesting train of thought.

"Hello?" Massie said, and snapped her fingers. In a Z formation. She was_ totally_ gangsta in every possible way. "I was daydreaming. This is so boring."

The cashier laughed, then looked a bit horrified.

"Massie, look behi-"

"I mean, seriously. Who the hell would want to work here? It's a mark-down from working at Target. There's so much disgusting food all around here, and there is absolutely no down time at _all_. I mean, I had to _italicize_ that last word. Also, our boss is a freaking cross dresser. Okay, fine, maybe she's not open about it, bu-"

Massie trailed off. The yellow jacket, masquerading as a football team mascot, had flown away.

A large, unisexual-clothed blob tapped Massie on the shoulder.

"Mayshee," The Blob started off. "Yhouse know I dawn't approve of gossip. Espechially if it's about me. Yhou get drifhe-thru fors a week now."

Massie cringed because of that terrible accent. What the _hell_ was that, anyway? Was it Scottish or Swedish or Stockholmish? Whatever it was, it required a lot of mashed words.

"Um," Massie said to the dark-haired cashier next to her, ignoring the manager. That cashier wasn't pretty in the obvious way, but had this old-fashioned, dreamy beauty that Massie thought would be more suitable on a magazine cover. "What did she say, anyway?"

The cashier sighed again. The sigh was becoming irritating now, beauty aside. "She said that you're a conductor for a week now."

"And that means?"

Massie was getting kind of pissed off now. WHY THE HELL COULDN'T ANYBODY USE NORMAL, CONVERSABLE ENGLISH?

"It means Massie, (enter dramatic sigh), that you're working on drive-thru. Good luck, anyway."

---

Sorry for the long wait. Thousands of projects and stuff like that. I'm starting my homework the second I get home until nine to ten to eleven, depending on how my teachers spread it out, like Nutella on bagels.

Hmm.

I'm hungry.

If you message me and tell me where you think Massie's working (Burger King? Mickey D's?), you'll get to pick the next parody I work on. I'm going to finish this with the next two parts, one of which is a cast party. I'm worried this story might get old, like Seventh Heaven.

Anyway, please write reviews. I'd like to that this girl named OMG-It's-Wicked-Jelly! for writing such long, lucious reviews. She's really a cool person. I read some of her stories, and by gollers, they were good.

Ho snap. It's halp-past-ten, and time fer' bed. 


	4. The Filler Chapter

IF YOU'RE WONDER-

Too much?

Okay. If you're wondering why Massie seems to be permanently stuck on caps lock, it's since she dramatizes everything. And since this is a Clique nutshell stuck in Massie's mind…

I'll never end on eclipses, you know.

---

Massie rested her soft, blushed cheek in one of her hands, and tapped two of her long, indigo-tipped fingernails onto the window still. Several cars had pulled up already, holding screaming kids demanding Happy Meals. Massie had counted twelve mothers with positively horrific hair, eight fathers with no hair, and two kids who had pulled on her hair.

People didn't seem to get that you were supposed to stay in your car.

Massie was realizing that most people nowadays couldn't think without her assistance. When she was first born, she assumed that it was just her family and friends that needed help. As it turns out, there was a whole wide _world _out there that needed to be controlled. Seriously, she could make some major change with her good looks and money. Spreading the ideals of overpriced clothes to Africa, and the fact that girls should always wear dresses, no matter how cold it was.

Massie pictured herself traveling across the globe, writing thought provoking articles on Forever 21's spring fashion line, speeches on Hard Candy's several lip glosses, and seminars on What Not to Wear. Then she would finally give a speech for that Nobel Peace Prize she so d-

A voice yelled through the loudspeaker, waking Massie up from her dream.

"Hello? Is anybody there? I'd like to place my order, already."

"Wait a damned minute…" Massie pushed the buttons to connect her with the person outside. "How may I help you?"

"I'd like a paella salad, dried brie with smoked salmon, and a Marbella-style soup." The dramatic female voice from outside cried. Massie could hear the anguish in her voice, since she was suddenly intuitive.

"Um. Ma'am." Massie started off, frowning. "This is a fast food restaurant. We only serve stuff like Big Macs and Frosties."

"Really?" The woman in the dark-tinted car replied quizzically. "Well, then, I guess I'll have a…"  
The woman trailed off again. Massie tried to see past the dark tinted limo windows, but her x-ray vision just wasn't working today. The lady was probably reading the menu.

"A hamburger with lettuce, and a small strawberry shake." Her voice turned triumphant. "Yeah, that's exactly it. Poor people, les pauvres, la cartes are so hard to read."

Massie had a newfound respect for this woman. She sounded considerably older then most mothers, but still seemed fashionable. And she spoke words Massie didn't understand.

"Alright," Massie started off. "So-"

She was about to mention everything. Her ideas, her clothing line, her favorite food (calorie free mocha) - when she was rudely interrupted.

"Would you like to go to Canada with me? I'm filming a major motion picture, and I think you'd be perfect for the role." The lady said. Her sunglasses, dark and secretive, glinted from inside the car.

Massie smirked slightly. This always seemed to happen to her.

"All right." Massie said, slipping out of her uniform. "Just wait until I finish my break."

"Block!" Screeched the fry cook, turning around. "You leave, and you're fired!"

Massie smiled, and climbed over the Pay-And-Get-Your-Food window. She jumped into the random stranger's car, going to meet her destiny at a place that wasn't even on the map.

And once again, Lisi Harrison ended things with a swiss-filled cliffhanger.

---

I'm hungry. I changed this chapter. Be happy.

_**Sweets for the sweet, it's more then you can eat. Click the button and review, you cool kid. Or I'll eat you.**_


	5. Massie's Last Stand

_**Hello, my potassium-addicted darlings. I'm sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time, and I'm tempted to scratch out the last chapter. I changed the title, anyway. It's not the end… **_

---

MASSIE: Oh, snap. Where will I have to work no-

---

_**Don't worry, you hungry hungry hippos. I would never, ever write in script format. **_

Massie held her breath in slightly. She looked at the woman sitting next to her. The woman had was wearing a power suit complete with shoulder pads (Massie shuddered) and had a short, blonde haircut. She was decidedly unglamorous. Massie thought about jumping out of the car- which, now she recognized, was partially trashed- but then decided it would mess up her hair, or kill her. The limo was going way past the speed limit.

"Where are we going, unglamorous person?" Massie asked the woman. "And what role am I playing in the movie? Because if it's not the main character, I quit."

The blonde woman had a ghost of a smile on her face.

"I told you already." The lithe female replied, pulling out her scratched mobile phone. "We're going to Mexico, and besides, my name is-"

"Lies and deceit!" Massie screamed, standing up. "Blasphemy! You told me we were going to Canada to shoot the Clique movie!"

"Oh, shut up." The blonde woman said. "You know that's never going to happen."

Massie gasped. What else would the woman want her for? Looking at the statuesque woman she was running out of adjectives for, she realized that there was not a single designer item on her.

IT WAS OBVIOUS. SHE WAS BEING KIDNAPPED.

"You steal babies!" Massie directed at the woman. She looked confused. "You don't have expensive shoes, so you must murder people for a living!"

The kidnapper stared at Massie.

"Also," Massie continued, crossing her arms over her chest. "You must do a really sucky job at it. You don't look like you get paid anything."

The blonde woman looked like she wanted to take a lightsaber and pwn Massie, but instead she opened her dented Nokia. She hit a random number (Massie would have guessed speed dial, but the unglamorous person's phone was as prehistoric as a CD player), and held the phone up to her ears.

"Kendra," The flaxen-haired lady barked. "I've got your daughter, and am taking her to you-know-where to do you-know-what."

If Massie hadn't been so distressed, she would have thought that last sentence was something a little too inappropriate for the Clique.

"To do _what_?" Massie gasped, inhaling her stomach so that it became concave. She widened her eyes dramatically. "Where are you taking me, you sloven mental-institution escapee who-"

Wait a minute. Kendra?

"My mother? The woman who gave birth to me? My very own flesh and blood?" Massie asked, aghast.

"You didn't pay much attention to the first chapter, did you? And you're going to work for the International House of Pancakes." The sylphlike female replied, shutting her phone without saying goodbye. "We need new undercover agents to work as waitresses. We talked with your mother, and she whole-heartedly agreed."

Massie pondered this for a second. There was an unpretentious woman telling her she needed to spy for the International House of Pancakes (more commonly known as IHOP), where she would probably get paid minimum wage for the rest of her life.

"What will I do there?" Massie solicited. "Will I just wait on tables?"

"Of course not. You'll have to spy on rich clients and listen to people's conversations from behind the large randomly placed potted plants." The undercover agent pressed her lips together as she waited for Massie's rejoinder.

"Oh, please. I do that every day." Massie responded, crossing her arms.

"You'll need to get all the information you can. Also, we conveniently need four other girls besides you to help expose clandestine scandals. Our agency is thinking about starting a new book series. We're going to call it Gossip Girl."

"LIES AND DECIET AGAIN!" Massie screamed. Her face turned a dark umber. "BLASPHEMY! YOU BITCH!"

"We'll pay you a generously high salary." The lissome detective reasoned, glancing at the enraged alpha. "You'll frequently get to go on shopping sprees to look different for each undercover mission."

Massie didn't miss a beat.

---

_**I really do think this was the last chapter. **_

_**But if you exquisite candy hearts think this is the last you'll ever see of Minimum Wage, you have another think coming. There is going to be a sequel with lots of spies. **_

_**Unless, of course, some idiot named Sushi Bowl forgets to update for like a year.**_

_**Heh.**_

_**The sequel will be fanfiction-worthy, I promise. I'll try especially hard. **_

_**I have a lot of things to tell you, you sweetly-colored teddy bear. **_

_**One is that I'd like to thank Dernier Cri for alerting me of this wonderful development. Seriously, she's the reason I wrote this chapter. **_

_**I HAVE BEEN NOMINATED. **_


End file.
